Talk about defying gravity. Last month, British astronaut Tim Peake completed the London Marathon in 3 hours and 35 minutes in 2016, or just over eight minutes a mile. Not bad, considering Peake was running aboard the International Space Station (ISS). Running in the microgravity of space is not easy. For starters, space runners have to be strapped into a custom-built treadmill via chains and bungee cables. The bungee system creates enough stress to simulate the feeling of running in gravity. More importantly, it alleviates the effects of spaceflight osteopenia. That's a condition where astronauts' bones lose density as the stress on them decreases in zero gravity. But microgravity has its advantages, too. Scientists believe that astronauts' bodies recover faster in space than on Earth, because muscles are constantly in a relaxed state. Indeed, Peake says he experienced fewer aches and pains after running than he does after an earthbound race. While his time may not be record-setting on Earth—he finished more than an hour behind the winner—he did beat the record for fastest space marathon. In 2007, NASA astronaut Sunita Williams completed the Boston Marathon from the ISS in 4 hours and 24 minutes. Peake had one advantage. He was using an app that allowed him to see a digital representation of the real London course, complete with cheering crowds. He even got to officially start the race from space. Stellar!

Talk about defying gravity. Last month, British astronaut Tim Peake completed the London Marathon in 3 hours and 35 minutes in 2016, or just over eight minutes a mile. Not bad, considering Peake was running aboard the International Space Station (ISS). Running in the microgravity of space is not easy. For starters, space runners have to be strapped into a custom-built treadmill via chains and bungee cables. The bungee system creates enough stress to simulate the feeling of running in gravity. More importantly, it alleviates the effects of spaceflight osteopenia. That's a condition where astronauts' bones lose density as the stress on them decreases in zero gravity. But microgravity has its advantages, too. Scientists believe that astronauts' bodies recover faster in space than on Earth, because muscles are constantly in a relaxed state. Indeed, Peake says he experienced fewer aches and pains after running than he does after an earthbound race. While his time may not be record-setting on Earth—he finished more than an hour behind the winner—he did beat the record for fastest space marathon. In 2007, NASA astronaut Sunita Williams completed the Boston Marathon from the ISS in 4 hours and 24 minutes. Peake had one advantage. He was using an app that allowed him to see a digital representation of the real London course, complete with cheering crowds. He even got to officially start the race from space. Stellar!

In the early '70s, few people could claim to be cooler than Lou Reed. The musician's rep was well-established with critics and musicians due to his formation of the highly influential Velvet Underground in the late '60s, and the fact that he was a regular at New York punk clubs and Andy Warhol's Factory studio. Unfortunately, coolness didn't translate to radio play for Reed, until he recorded Walk on the Wild Side. As fans of Reed's music, David Bowie and his guitarist Mick Ronson helped produce Reed's second solo effort, Transformer, an album with glam rock arrangements to round out Reed's lyrical observations of New York. Walk on the Wild Side paired a catchy upright bass riff with shuffling rhythms in the guitar and drums, as Reed nonchalantly delivered lines about uninhibited characters he'd met at Warhol's Factory. In celebration of the late musician's 77th birthday in March, we're listening to the hit song that immortalized 1970s New York, and made Lou Reed a rock radio staple.

In the early '70s, few people could claim to be cooler than Lou Reed. The musician's rep was well-established with critics and musicians due to his formation of the highly influential Velvet Underground in the late '60s, and the fact that he was a regular at New York punk clubs and Andy Warhol's Factory studio. Unfortunately, coolness didn't translate to radio play for Reed, until he recorded Walk on the Wild Side. As fans of Reed's music, David Bowie and his guitarist Mick Ronson helped produce Reed's second solo effort, Transformer, an album with glam rock arrangements to round out Reed's lyrical observations of New York. Walk on the Wild Side paired a catchy upright bass riff with shuffling rhythms in the guitar and drums, as Reed nonchalantly delivered lines about uninhibited characters he'd met at Warhol's Factory. In celebration of the late musician's 77th birthday in March, we're listening to the hit song that immortalized 1970s New York, and made Lou Reed a rock radio staple.

Nobody puts baby in a corner. Not even Boston Marathon race director Jock Semple, seen here trying to rip off Kathrine Switzer's race bib during the 1967 race. Thanks to a screening oversight, Switzer had successfully obtained an official bib into the male-only competition after being told she was "too fragile" to complete the 26.2-mile course. Moments after this image was taken, her boyfriend (in dark shorts, far right) pushed Semple to the ground; Switzer then "ran like hell" to become the first female with a bib to finish the world's most famous marathon, 4 hours and 20 minutes after she'd started. (She'd drop that time to 2:51:37 seven years later—about an hour and a half faster than the current average male time.) Even still, it took five more years for women to be officially allowed to run in the event. Nowadays, they make up nearly half of the Boston Marathon's participants. On the 50th anniversary of her landmark performance in 2017, 70-year-old Switzer ran Boston again for the first time in four decades. As an additional commemoration, the Boston Athletic Association announced they would officially be retiring her iconic bib number, #261.

Below: Switzer and Semple, who made peace with having women entrants to the event, posing before the 1973 Boston Marathon.

Nobody puts baby in a corner. Not even Boston Marathon race director Jock Semple, seen here trying to rip off Kathrine Switzer's race bib during the 1967 race. Thanks to a screening oversight, Switzer had successfully obtained an official bib into the male-only competition after being told she was "too fragile" to complete the 26.2-mile course. Moments after this image was taken, her boyfriend (in dark shorts, far right) pushed Semple to the ground; Switzer then "ran like hell" to become the first female with a bib to finish the world's most famous marathon, 4 hours and 20 minutes after she'd started. (She'd drop that time to 2:51:37 seven years later—about an hour and a half faster than the current average male time.) Even still, it took five more years for women to be officially allowed to run in the event. Nowadays, they make up nearly half of the Boston Marathon's participants. On the 50th anniversary of her landmark performance in 2017, 70-year-old Switzer ran Boston again for the first time in four decades. As an additional commemoration, the Boston Athletic Association announced they would officially be retiring her iconic bib number, #261.

Below: Switzer and Semple, who made peace with having women entrants to the event, posing before the 1973 Boston Marathon.

Eating like a bird is one thing; but walking like one takes a whole lot of skill and talent—or should we say, talons? Designer Aya Feldman created a series of avian-inspired HyBird shoes for her final project at the Bezalel Academy of Art and Design in Israel. Her flashy shoes are just a few on display in the traveling exhibit A Walk of Art: Visionary Shoes, which collects 60 pairs of footwear created by Bezalel students and alumni. Many of the pieces—which range from jenga-like woodwork, to slingshot-shaped heels, to Cinderella-like glass slippers—are one-of-a-kind works of art. Though Feldman's metallic heels are fierce wearable fashion items, many of the other pieces are not; often, the artists will begin with the concept of the shoe to create works that are visually compelling but structurally unsound—a fact that makes our feet breathe a sigh of relief. The shoes on exhibit are meant to blur the lines between "conceptual, artistic, [and] extreme footwear." And that's nothing to squawk at!

Below: other works from Walk of Art: Always Midnight by Boris Shpeizman, Lip Gloss Shoe by Gal Souvia, and Slingshot Shoe by Kobi Levi.

Eating like a bird is one thing; but walking like one takes a whole lot of skill and talent—or should we say, talons? Designer Aya Feldman created a series of avian-inspired HyBird shoes for her final project at the Bezalel Academy of Art and Design in Israel. Her flashy shoes are just a few on display in the traveling exhibit A Walk of Art: Visionary Shoes, which collects 60 pairs of footwear created by Bezalel students and alumni. Many of the pieces—which range from jenga-like woodwork, to slingshot-shaped heels, to Cinderella-like glass slippers—are one-of-a-kind works of art. Though Feldman's metallic heels are fierce wearable fashion items, many of the other pieces are not; often, the artists will begin with the concept of the shoe to create works that are visually compelling but structurally unsound—a fact that makes our feet breathe a sigh of relief. The shoes on exhibit are meant to blur the lines between "conceptual, artistic, [and] extreme footwear." And that's nothing to squawk at!

Below: other works from Walk of Art: Always Midnight by Boris Shpeizman, Lip Gloss Shoe by Gal Souvia, and Slingshot Shoe by Kobi Levi.

If you didn't learn about Toussaint L'Ouverture in grade school, that's a shame. He lead the most successful mass slave revolt in history, making him the subject of today's Black History Month Themed Thursday. Believed to be the grandson of African king Gaou Guinou, L'Ouverture was born a slave around 1742 on the island colony of Saint Domingue (modern-day Haiti). Thanks to his freedman godfather, L'Ouverture grew up educated and well-versed in the writings of Caesar. He was freed at the age of 33 in 1776, perhaps due to his impressive skills, which included a knack for horse riding. He was lucky. The French colonists on Saint Domingue were brutal; fond of debauchery and torture, some even shot fruit off of their slaves' heads as entertainment. The mistreatment reached a boiling point in August 1791, when the slaves took up arms against their oppressors. As violence gripped the island, L'Ouverture spurred his horse, raced around the colony, and united the tangled web of rebellion into an organized uprising: the Haitian Revolution.

The revolt initially proved so successful that when the radical Jacobins seized control of Revolutionary France, they extended the olive branch to L'Ouverture and abolished slavery in all French territories. L'Ouverture became the sole ruler of Saint Domingue and issued a Constitution that provided for a multiracial society on the island. Which may have thrived, if not for the treachery of Napoleon Bonaparte. After Napoleon took control of France, he invaded Saint Domingue to strip the island's resources for his war machine. But yellow fever quickly killed two-thirds of his French legionnaires, and 2,500 Polish soldiers defected in support of the freedpeople. Then, in 1802, Napoleon's brother in law loured L'Ouverture out into the open to "talk." Instead, the French handcuffed L'Ouverture and imprisoned him in a dungeon overlooking the Jura Mountains of France. He died 10 months later, humiliated and bedraggled. Saint Domingue, meanwhile, became the Republic of Haiti on January 1, 1804. Which echoed L'Ouverture's defiant words to Napoleon: "In overthrowing me, you have cut down only the trunk of the Tree of Liberty. It will spring up again by the roots for they are numerous and deep."

If you didn't learn about Toussaint L'Ouverture in grade school, that's a shame. He lead the most successful mass slave revolt in history, making him the subject of today's Black History Month Themed Thursday. Believed to be the grandson of African king Gaou Guinou, L'Ouverture was born a slave around 1742 on the island colony of Saint Domingue (modern-day Haiti). Thanks to his freedman godfather, L'Ouverture grew up educated and well-versed in the writings of Caesar. He was freed at the age of 33 in 1776, perhaps due to his impressive skills, which included a knack for horse riding. He was lucky. The French colonists on Saint Domingue were brutal; fond of debauchery and torture, some even shot fruit off of their slaves' heads as entertainment. The mistreatment reached a boiling point in August 1791, when the slaves took up arms against their oppressors. As violence gripped the island, L'Ouverture spurred his horse, raced around the colony, and united the tangled web of rebellion into an organized uprising: the Haitian Revolution.

The revolt initially proved so successful that when the radical Jacobins seized control of Revolutionary France, they extended the olive branch to L'Ouverture and abolished slavery in all French territories. L'Ouverture became the sole ruler of Saint Domingue and issued a Constitution that provided for a multiracial society on the island. Which may have thrived, if not for the treachery of Napoleon Bonaparte. After Napoleon took control of France, he invaded Saint Domingue to strip the island's resources for his war machine. But yellow fever quickly killed two-thirds of his French legionnaires, and 2,500 Polish soldiers defected in support of the freedpeople. Then, in 1802, Napoleon's brother in law loured L'Ouverture out into the open to "talk." Instead, the French handcuffed L'Ouverture and imprisoned him in a dungeon overlooking the Jura Mountains of France. He died 10 months later, humiliated and bedraggled. Saint Domingue, meanwhile, became the Republic of Haiti on January 1, 1804. Which echoed L'Ouverture's defiant words to Napoleon: "In overthrowing me, you have cut down only the trunk of the Tree of Liberty. It will spring up again by the roots for they are numerous and deep."

However poignant the above scene may be, it wasn't intended to serve as social commentary. African-American photographer Roy DeCarava snapped Graduation to simply capture a moment of beauty: a Harlem Cinderella, if you will, hoisting her dress as she maneuvers a disadvantaged life in 1949. Unlike the photographer's black contemporaries, who found themselves pigeonholed by white critics as documentarians of ghettos and suffering, DeCarava championed subjective beauty and creative expression as rebuttals to dominant European perceptions of beauty. Through this lens, DeCarava freed himself to approach his art in the way many white photographers do: with aesthetic appreciation free of societal constraints and expectations. The resulting Graduation shows that a black woman raised in poverty can be just as stunning as a woman born and raised with a storied pedigree, ensconced in comforts and luxury.

However poignant the above scene may be, it wasn't intended to serve as social commentary. African-American photographer Roy DeCarava snapped Graduation to simply capture a moment of beauty: a Harlem Cinderella, if you will, hoisting her dress as she maneuvers a disadvantaged life in 1949. Unlike the photographer's black contemporaries, who found themselves pigeonholed by white critics as documentarians of ghettos and suffering, DeCarava championed subjective beauty and creative expression as rebuttals to dominant European perceptions of beauty. Through this lens, DeCarava freed himself to approach his art in the way many white photographers do: with aesthetic appreciation free of societal constraints and expectations. The resulting Graduation shows that a black woman raised in poverty can be just as stunning as a woman born and raised with a storied pedigree, ensconced in comforts and luxury.

Nobody sang the blues as honestly as Bessie Smith did. Born into abject poverty and segregation, Smith was belting on the streets as a 10-year-old to help feed her siblings after her parents died. At 16, she met blues legend Ma Rainey and begun touring, singing around melodies and phrasing as she saw poetically fit—a style later adopted by jazz improvisers. In the below footage of Smith performing St. Louis Blues (1929), her only video recording, she bemoans loving a two-timing gambler. Forceful but finessed lines such as "Wasn't for powder and the store-bought hair / The man I love wouldn't go nowhere, nowhere!" rise from her lungs with the gravity of sacred gospels, but her situation remains melancholic, even as the sorrowful chorus joins in with solidarity. Smith's aching style, characterized by a tendency to inspire both joy and misery, was shaped by a brutal life ridden with betrayal and torment. For all her troubles, Smith earned the title of the "Empress of the Blues," as well as the respect and adoration of Louis Armstrong, Aretha Franklin, and Janis Joplin—quite the audience for her royal majesty.

Nobody sang the blues as honestly as Bessie Smith did. Born into abject poverty and segregation, Smith was belting on the streets as a 10-year-old to help feed her siblings after her parents died. At 16, she met blues legend Ma Rainey and begun touring, singing around melodies and phrasing as she saw poetically fit—a style later adopted by jazz improvisers. In the below footage of Smith performing St. Louis Blues (1929), her only video recording, she bemoans loving a two-timing gambler. Forceful but finessed lines such as "Wasn't for powder and the store-bought hair / The man I love wouldn't go nowhere, nowhere!" rise from her lungs with the gravity of sacred gospels, but her situation remains melancholic, even as the sorrowful chorus joins in with solidarity. Smith's aching style, characterized by a tendency to inspire both joy and misery, was shaped by a brutal life ridden with betrayal and torment. For all her troubles, Smith earned the title of the "Empress of the Blues," as well as the respect and adoration of Louis Armstrong, Aretha Franklin, and Janis Joplin—quite the audience for her royal majesty.

Title: I Have Special Reservations
Artist: Elizabeth Catlett (1915-2012)
Created: 1946
Medium: linoleum cut
Dimensions: 6.31 x 6.15 in (16.1 x 15.8 cm)
Current location: Museum of Modern Art, New York City, New York

Nearly a decade before the Montgomery bus boycotts, Elizabeth Catlett was making art that highlighted the need for a Civil Rights Movement. As an art student, Catlett became the first African-American woman to graduate with an MFA from the University of Iowa; as a professional artist, she spent most of her life teaching both in the class and through her body of work. "I have always wanted my art to service my people—to reflect us, to relate to us, to stimulate us, to make us aware of our potential," Catlett once said. Her stoic figures in I Have Special Reservations highlight the black working class who would later come to realize their organizing power when nearly 45,000 of them boycotted and desegregated public Alabama buses in 1956. Catlett also took influences from cubism's play on perspectives, as well as influences from geometric African art. The linoleum cut process—which uses a block covered in linseed oil, and powdered cork in the place of a pearwood relief—was a method Catlett came to experiment with when she earned a fellowship to travel to Mexico City and engage in their political art. The form also highlights the hard lines in the black-and-white world from which Catlett's characters strive to break free.

Below: another of Catlett's prints from this era entitled Sharecropper.

Title: I Have Special Reservations
Artist: Elizabeth Catlett (1915-2012)
Created: 1946
Medium: linoleum cut
Dimensions: 6.31 x 6.15 in (16.1 x 15.8 cm)
Current location: Museum of Modern Art, New York City, New York

Nearly a decade before the Montgomery bus boycotts, Elizabeth Catlett was making art that highlighted the need for a Civil Rights Movement. As an art student, Catlett became the first African-American woman to graduate with an MFA from the University of Iowa; as a professional artist, she spent most of her life teaching both in the class and through her body of work. "I have always wanted my art to service my people—to reflect us, to relate to us, to stimulate us, to make us aware of our potential," Catlett once said. Her stoic figures in I Have Special Reservations highlight the black working class who would later come to realize their organizing power when nearly 45,000 of them boycotted and desegregated public Alabama buses in 1956. Catlett also took influences from cubism's play on perspectives, as well as influences from geometric African art. The linoleum cut process—which uses a block covered in linseed oil, and powdered cork in the place of a pearwood relief—was a method Catlett came to experiment with when she earned a fellowship to travel to Mexico City and engage in their political art. The form also highlights the hard lines in the black-and-white world from which Catlett's characters strive to break free.

Below: another of Catlett's prints from this era entitled Sharecropper.

It may be hard to believe in most parts of the Northern Hemisphere, but spring is here. Spring Training, that is. Major League Baseball starts its 2019 pre-season this week in the warm climes of Arizona and Florida. Have you ever stopped to ponder the object of baseball? Players stand at a "plate" and try to bat a ball so they can run around three "bases" before returning "home." Much has been written on the origin of the sport's quirks—much of it by sportswriters eager to get a free trip to the sun in February—including what's up with the strange bases. Home "plate" is called that because it used to be round. It was made of iron, marble, glass, or sometimes an actual ceramic plate or dish. Hence home plate's other nickname: the "dish." Towards the end of the 19th century, it was mandated that home plate be square, although it was still usually made of stone. This was before sliding was common; when players did get dirty, they often came away with a sliced and bloody leg. The square shape was oriented with one point towards the catcher and the other towards the pitcher, allowing the pitcher, batter and umpire to more easily see the width of the strike zone. It was Robert Keating, a failed professional ball player turned inventor, who invented the modern-day rubber home plate. Keating changed the shape to be an irregular pentagon, with the square part more clearly denoting the width of the strike zone while the other three points lined up with the catcher and the two foul lines. Keating believed the rubber material would give (right-handed) batters a spring as they headed towards first base, wouldn't vibrate the bat when its end struck the plate, and would avoid the bloody sliding issue. Keating's plate was adopted by the American and National Leagues for the 1901 season. As for the other three bases, the Major League Baseball Rule Book still calls for them to be "white canvas bags" that are "filled with soft material"—which explains the expression of "rounding the bag" but does not at all describe modern-day bases. C'mon, MLB, follow your own silly rules!

It may be hard to believe in most parts of the Northern Hemisphere, but spring is here. Spring Training, that is. Major League Baseball starts its 2019 pre-season this week in the warm climes of Arizona and Florida. Have you ever stopped to ponder the object of baseball? Players stand at a "plate" and try to bat a ball so they can run around three "bases" before returning "home." Much has been written on the origin of the sport's quirks—much of it by sportswriters eager to get a free trip to the sun in February—including what's up with the strange bases. Home "plate" is called that because it used to be round. It was made of iron, marble, glass, or sometimes an actual ceramic plate or dish. Hence home plate's other nickname: the "dish." Towards the end of the 19th century, it was mandated that home plate be square, although it was still usually made of stone. This was before sliding was common; when players did get dirty, they often came away with a sliced and bloody leg. The square shape was oriented with one point towards the catcher and the other towards the pitcher, allowing the pitcher, batter and umpire to more easily see the width of the strike zone. It was Robert Keating, a failed professional ball player turned inventor, who invented the modern-day rubber home plate. Keating changed the shape to be an irregular pentagon, with the square part more clearly denoting the width of the strike zone while the other three points lined up with the catcher and the two foul lines. Keating believed the rubber material would give (right-handed) batters a spring as they headed towards first base, wouldn't vibrate the bat when its end struck the plate, and would avoid the bloody sliding issue. Keating's plate was adopted by the American and National Leagues for the 1901 season. As for the other three bases, the Major League Baseball Rule Book still calls for them to be "white canvas bags" that are "filled with soft material"—which explains the expression of "rounding the bag" but does not at all describe modern-day bases. C'mon, MLB, follow your own silly rules!

Last week's Grammy Awards were awash with new and veteran musical talents, though one of the best performances of the night arguably went to the sister duo Chloe x Halle. Singing Donny Hathaway and Roberta Flack's duet, Where is the Love, the two showed off their thrilling harmonizing: a talent that first caught the attention of Beyoncé Knowles, who signed the two after watching their YouTube cover of her song Pretty Hurts in 2015. Since then, the two have received direct mentorship from Knowles, worked on a charity single for Michelle Obama's Let Girls Learn campaign, and recently sang America the Beautiful at the Super Bowl. The young women were up for Best New Artist at this year's Grammys after releasing The Kids Are Alright, their debut album which features the track Warrior—originally written for the film A Wrinkle in Time. A basic synth riff accompanies bigger and bolder percussive chants, perfectly capturing the hero's courageous journey in Wrinkle. Chloe x Halle may not have taken home the Best New Artist Grammy, but their standout singing no doubt earned them a great number of new fans on Sunday night.

Last week's Grammy Awards were awash with new and veteran musical talents, though one of the best performances of the night arguably went to the sister duo Chloe x Halle. Singing Donny Hathaway and Roberta Flack's duet, Where is the Love, the two showed off their thrilling harmonizing: a talent that first caught the attention of Beyoncé Knowles, who signed the two after watching their YouTube cover of her song Pretty Hurts in 2015. Since then, the two have received direct mentorship from Knowles, worked on a charity single for Michelle Obama's Let Girls Learn campaign, and recently sang America the Beautiful at the Super Bowl. The young women were up for Best New Artist at this year's Grammys after releasing The Kids Are Alright, their debut album which features the track Warrior—originally written for the film A Wrinkle in Time. A basic synth riff accompanies bigger and bolder percussive chants, perfectly capturing the hero's courageous journey in Wrinkle. Chloe x Halle may not have taken home the Best New Artist Grammy, but their standout singing no doubt earned them a great number of new fans on Sunday night.

Life on the prairie in the late 19th century was not easy. There was no Amazon or UPS to deliver life's necessities. What provisions could not be bartered or grown had to be ordered in advance, in bulk. A season's worth of flour, sugar, seed, and animal feed would arrive via wagon in giant cotton cloth sacks. The leftover sacks soon served another purpose: cloth for making clothes. Women would turn the plain sacks into garments like dresses, aprons, and underwear. Eventually, the companies noticed. In 1925, the Gingham Girl flour company began making their sacks out of dress-quality fabric with floral patterns. When the Great Depression came a few years later, other bulk good companies followed suit. By the mid-1930s, companies saw their sacks as a key differentiator and even sponsored sack-made fashion shows and contests. In 1933, the Textile Bag Manufacturers Association published a booklet, Sewing with Cotton Bags, which included tips like how to get the company logos out (soak the sack overnight in lard). The self-taught seamstresses went to other extremes to conceal their fabric sources. They cut, dyed, embroidered, and embellished the sacks until they looked like the store bought clothing of the times. It wasn't until well after World War II that cotton sack clothing took its place in the vintage aisle. In 1946, a Pillsbury Flour Company manager fondly remembered the days "when the wind blew across the South and you could see our name on all the girls' underpants." It was the original viral marketing!

Life on the prairie in the late 19th century was not easy. There was no Amazon or UPS to deliver life's necessities. What provisions could not be bartered or grown had to be ordered in advance, in bulk. A season's worth of flour, sugar, seed, and animal feed would arrive via wagon in giant cotton cloth sacks. The leftover sacks soon served another purpose: cloth for making clothes. Women would turn the plain sacks into garments like dresses, aprons, and underwear. Eventually, the companies noticed. In 1925, the Gingham Girl flour company began making their sacks out of dress-quality fabric with floral patterns. When the Great Depression came a few years later, other bulk good companies followed suit. By the mid-1930s, companies saw their sacks as a key differentiator and even sponsored sack-made fashion shows and contests. In 1933, the Textile Bag Manufacturers Association published a booklet, Sewing with Cotton Bags, which included tips like how to get the company logos out (soak the sack overnight in lard). The self-taught seamstresses went to other extremes to conceal their fabric sources. They cut, dyed, embroidered, and embellished the sacks until they looked like the store bought clothing of the times. It wasn't until well after World War II that cotton sack clothing took its place in the vintage aisle. In 1946, a Pillsbury Flour Company manager fondly remembered the days "when the wind blew across the South and you could see our name on all the girls' underpants." It was the original viral marketing!

Paramount Theater and chill? The grandiloquent Oakland, California, art deco theater is just one of dozens of locations recalling Hollywood nostalgia in Stephan Zaubitzer's Cinémas series. In 2003, Zaubitzer began photographing the big and beautiful, the small locales, and the unfinished parking lots that function as movie cinemas around the world. With the advent of internet streaming services at home, Zaubitzer says people are losing these community locations of the last century, and some of the magic of gathering to watch the latest and greatest of Hollywood (or Bollywood) storytelling. "I started the project in West Africa where, with the exception of Burkina Faso, nearly every country has seen its cinemas close down one after the other." Many of Zaubitzer's photos were taken using large format view cameras—adding to the nostalgic look and feel of these old places. We know there's nothing quite like a cozy chair and the convenience of watching movies at home, but maybe getting dressed to go to the theater could become the newest Oscar party craze?

Paramount Theater and chill? The grandiloquent Oakland, California, art deco theater is just one of dozens of locations recalling Hollywood nostalgia in Stephan Zaubitzer's Cinémas series. In 2003, Zaubitzer began photographing the big and beautiful, the small locales, and the unfinished parking lots that function as movie cinemas around the world. With the advent of internet streaming services at home, Zaubitzer says people are losing these community locations of the last century, and some of the magic of gathering to watch the latest and greatest of Hollywood (or Bollywood) storytelling. "I started the project in West Africa where, with the exception of Burkina Faso, nearly every country has seen its cinemas close down one after the other." Many of Zaubitzer's photos were taken using large format view cameras—adding to the nostalgic look and feel of these old places. We know there's nothing quite like a cozy chair and the convenience of watching movies at home, but maybe getting dressed to go to the theater could become the newest Oscar party craze?

Happy Presidents' Day! The way most Americans know their old presidents is through paper money, but it wasn't always that way. Before the Civil War, U.S. currency was printed by state-backed banks in a variety of shapes, colors, sizes, and denominations. Counterfeiting was a major problem. Thieves would scratch the ink off of faded bills and write in their preferred number. They also utilized the new technology of photography to replicate bills that were black and white, which were most. So when the U.S. Mint began issuing its own paper currency to finance the Civil War, it was eager to devise a bill that could not be counterfeited. They chose to use green-black ink because it was less likely to fade and could not be photographed—since color photography was still a century away from reality. The Federal bank further standardized paper bills in 1929 during the Great Depression. They reduced the size of the bills to save paper, and made denominations easier to read at a glance. They decided to keep the green color because, according to the U.S. Bureau of Printing and Engraving, the ink was plentiful and durable and the color green was associated with stability. The "greenback" would go on to symbolize wealthy and economic power around the world. But don't look too closely at today's U.S. bills. In an ongoing effort to thwart counterfeiters, they contain purple, orange, blue, and even copper!

Happy Presidents' Day! The way most Americans know their old presidents is through paper money, but it wasn't always that way. Before the Civil War, U.S. currency was printed by state-backed banks in a variety of shapes, colors, sizes, and denominations. Counterfeiting was a major problem. Thieves would scratch the ink off of faded bills and write in their preferred number. They also utilized the new technology of photography to replicate bills that were black and white, which were most. So when the U.S. Mint began issuing its own paper currency to finance the Civil War, it was eager to devise a bill that could not be counterfeited. They chose to use green-black ink because it was less likely to fade and could not be photographed—since color photography was still a century away from reality. The Federal bank further standardized paper bills in 1929 during the Great Depression. They reduced the size of the bills to save paper, and made denominations easier to read at a glance. They decided to keep the green color because, according to the U.S. Bureau of Printing and Engraving, the ink was plentiful and durable and the color green was associated with stability. The "greenback" would go on to symbolize wealthy and economic power around the world. But don't look too closely at today's U.S. bills. In an ongoing effort to thwart counterfeiters, they contain purple, orange, blue, and even copper!

They should call Mehmet II the Sultan of Swing after the way he walloped the Byzantine Empire in 1453. Known as the "Conqueror," Mehmet successfully seized the empire's capital of Constantinople and re-established it as Istanbul, designating it the new hub of his Exalted Ottoman State. To celebrate his most excellent victory, he commissioned Venetian artist Gentile Bellini to paint the above portrait, The Sultan Mehmet II, in the realist style making the rounds in Europe. The sultan's aquiline nose and receding chin give evidence that the leader wanted himself accurately preserved for all of posterity to behold, with an inscription in the lower left declaring him "Victor Orbis": the Conqueror of the World. In spite of Mehmet's fearsome reputation and grandiosity, he had extended the olive branch to the Christian Republic of Venice with a request to send its best artist, Bellini, to capture his regal flair. Bellini's time in the new capital of Istanbul forever influenced his style with its elegant arabesques, just as Ottoman exports influenced the architecture in cosmopolitan Venice. Today, Mehmet's legacy is that of an earth shaker, a founder of universities, and protector of religious freedoms—enough accomplishments to warrant a mighty ego!

They should call Mehmet II the Sultan of Swing after the way he walloped the Byzantine Empire in 1453. Known as the "Conqueror," Mehmet successfully seized the empire's capital of Constantinople and re-established it as Istanbul, designating it the new hub of his Exalted Ottoman State. To celebrate his most excellent victory, he commissioned Venetian artist Gentile Bellini to paint the above portrait, The Sultan Mehmet II, in the realist style making the rounds in Europe. The sultan's aquiline nose and receding chin give evidence that the leader wanted himself accurately preserved for all of posterity to behold, with an inscription in the lower left declaring him "Victor Orbis": the Conqueror of the World. In spite of Mehmet's fearsome reputation and grandiosity, he had extended the olive branch to the Christian Republic of Venice with a request to send its best artist, Bellini, to capture his regal flair. Bellini's time in the new capital of Istanbul forever influenced his style with its elegant arabesques, just as Ottoman exports influenced the architecture in cosmopolitan Venice. Today, Mehmet's legacy is that of an earth shaker, a founder of universities, and protector of religious freedoms—enough accomplishments to warrant a mighty ego!

An art exhibition opens in New York City and redefines American perceptions of beauty.

Yeah, yeah, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. The platitude is a given in our day and age; but for Americans living at the beginning of the 20th century, not so much. Art critics of the era insisted upon strict adherence to classical values and aesthetics, until a group of rebellious artists called the Association of American Painters and Sculptors orchestrated the legendary Armory Show. The exhibition, which radically transformed American perceptions of art, took place on today's date in 1913.

At the turn of the century, New York City's harbors teemed with steel ships and its towers rose to unprecedented heights. But the modernization of its art scene remained stagnant. Most of the Big Apple's galleries catered to the Old Masters, holding up classical depictions of beauty alongside 19th-century realism. As European galleries clamored over the emerging Fauvist, Cubist, and Futurist styles, those in the U.S. remained out of touch with the times.

Then, in 1911, a group of progressive artists met at the Madison Gallery in New York’s Upper East Side. Dubbing themselves the Association of American Painters and Sculptors (AAPS), they conspired to revolt against conservative art institutions by launching an avant-garde exhibition, with Arthur Bowen Davies acting as its principal organizer. Davies, alongside fellow members, scoured Europe in search of any forward-thinking artists they could find for the exhibition. Meanwhile, other members corralled American artists who had thus far been shunned by conservative institutions, namely the National Academy of Design.

Throughout 1912, Davies and AAPS member Walt Kuhn amassed an arsenal of modernist paintings in Europe, which included Henri Matisse's Blue Nude (1907), Picasso's Standing Female Nude (1911), and other masterpieces. Back home, AAPS members wrangled paintings, sculptures, and sketches from a couple hundred American artists, like landscape abstractionists Albert Pinkham Ryder and Leon Dabo. Finally, the International Exhibition of Modern Art, aka the Armory Exhibit, was ready after a year of furious efforts.

On Feb. 17, 1913, the exhibit opened to a tempest of reactions. Critics balked at the "primitive" work of European modernists and compared the show to an insane asylum. In regards to the violently abstracted paintings, one connoisseur remarked, "It makes me fear for the world…. Something must be wrong with an age which can put those things in a gallery and call them art." American artists at large, however, were enraptured. Marcel Duchamp's Cubist-inspired Nude Descending a Staircase, in particular, resonated with those wary of classical styles. The piece, which was described as "an explosion in a shingle factory," depicts not a woman, but the motion of a woman clearing steps—a truly revolutionary concept at the time.

Some 87,000 people visited the Armory Exhibit in New York, with many of them walking away realizing, for the first time, the limitless potential of art. For centuries, artists had been expected to perfect form by way of raw technical skill; suddenly, the potential of art as a mode of expression was unleashed on the U.S., making way for the abstract expressionists of the '50s and the pop artists of the '60s. Critic Harriet Monroe of the Sunday Tribune wrote of the freshly exposed modernists: "These radical artists are right. They represent a search for new beauty... [and] a longing for new versions of truth observed."

An art exhibition opens in New York City and redefines American perceptions of beauty.

Yeah, yeah, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. The platitude is a given in our day and age; but for Americans living at the beginning of the 20th century, not so much. Art critics of the era insisted upon strict adherence to classical values and aesthetics, until a group of rebellious artists called the Association of American Painters and Sculptors orchestrated the legendary Armory Show. The exhibition, which radically transformed American perceptions of art, took place on today's date in 1913.

At the turn of the century, New York City's harbors teemed with steel ships and its towers rose to unprecedented heights. But the modernization of its art scene remained stagnant. Most of the Big Apple's galleries catered to the Old Masters, holding up classical depictions of beauty alongside 19th-century realism. As European galleries clamored over the emerging Fauvist, Cubist, and Futurist styles, those in the U.S. remained out of touch with the times.

Then, in 1911, a group of progressive artists met at the Madison Gallery in New York’s Upper East Side. Dubbing themselves the Association of American Painters and Sculptors (AAPS), they conspired to revolt against conservative art institutions by launching an avant-garde exhibition, with Arthur Bowen Davies acting as its principal organizer. Davies, alongside fellow members, scoured Europe in search of any forward-thinking artists they could find for the exhibition. Meanwhile, other members corralled American artists who had thus far been shunned by conservative institutions, namely the National Academy of Design.

Throughout 1912, Davies and AAPS member Walt Kuhn amassed an arsenal of modernist paintings in Europe, which included Henri Matisse's Blue Nude (1907), Picasso's Standing Female Nude (1911), and other masterpieces. Back home, AAPS members wrangled paintings, sculptures, and sketches from a couple hundred American artists, like landscape abstractionists Albert Pinkham Ryder and Leon Dabo. Finally, the International Exhibition of Modern Art, aka the Armory Exhibit, was ready after a year of furious efforts.

On Feb. 17, 1913, the exhibit opened to a tempest of reactions. Critics balked at the "primitive" work of European modernists and compared the show to an insane asylum. In regards to the violently abstracted paintings, one connoisseur remarked, "It makes me fear for the world…. Something must be wrong with an age which can put those things in a gallery and call them art." American artists at large, however, were enraptured. Marcel Duchamp's Cubist-inspired Nude Descending a Staircase, in particular, resonated with those wary of classical styles. The piece, which was described as "an explosion in a shingle factory," depicts not a woman, but the motion of a woman clearing steps—a truly revolutionary concept at the time.

Some 87,000 people visited the Armory Exhibit in New York, with many of them walking away realizing, for the first time, the limitless potential of art. For centuries, artists had been expected to perfect form by way of raw technical skill; suddenly, the potential of art as a mode of expression was unleashed on the U.S., making way for the abstract expressionists of the '50s and the pop artists of the '60s. Critic Harriet Monroe of the Sunday Tribune wrote of the freshly exposed modernists: "These radical artists are right. They represent a search for new beauty... [and] a longing for new versions of truth observed."

Calculators are great (calculator watches are even better), but we too often use them as a crutch. So today, carefully put down the calculator, slowly step away, and dust off your arithmetic skills. We think this week's Teaser is actually easier to solve without a calculator, despite how it might look at first. Your 5th grade teacher would be so proud of you!

Simple question: How many 1s are in the smallest multiple of 17 that is made up entirely of 1s?

Put another way: there is a whole number x that is made up entirely of 1s. It is the smallest multiple of 17 that is made up entirely of 1s. How many digits does x have?

Think you know the answer? Email support@curious.com with the subject "Teaser #164" and let us know, or check back next week to find out!